A friend of a friend, whom I'll call Jane, had always been a food purist. She once held a fundraiser dinner for 100 people, making everything from the five-course menu — soupe au pistou, goat ragout, organic omelets with chevre, free-range roast duck on a bed of wilted greens and mesclun salad — from scratch herself. I recall a visit to her house where I was served high quality kosher herring in wine piled onto rye bread, washed down with fresh squeezed juice. When I went to get napkins, my eyes darted through her cupboards: extra virgin, cold-pressed, unfiltered olive oil, organic tamari, glass jars of polenta and dried morel mushrooms, a fat jug of pure maple syrup. There was no doubt: Jane was a serious foodie.

Specialty, organic and local foods are at an all-time high in popularity in this country. According to Samuel Fromartz's book "Organic, Inc.," sales of organic food grow 20 percent per year. Jane's foodie tendencies mirrored a nation's newfound obsession with food: she bought only organic food, shopped at the farmers market and insisted on buying locally made products. And she did so because she could afford it.

But recently, I got word that Jane's circumstances had changed. She had had a baby, she and her partner had split up, and she had given up her high-paying job to spend more time with her child. I was curious how these changes had affected her finances, but most of all I wondered how her food buying habits had morphed to reflect that change.

I contacted Jane and, feeling bold, offered to make her dinner. When Jane said yes, I realized that I couldn't just bring over a frozen pizza to pop in the oven. I spent most of the day before the interview roasting a squash to make soup and busted out the rolling pin to make pie dough.

I arrived at supper time, just as Jane and her son were unpacking from a day trip to Marin. Jane sported a cyclist cap and a pair of hand-made pants. From the trunk of the car she pulled out a large bag of meat. After their hike in Point Reyes, she had stopped at a butcher shop near Olema and bought a month's worth of organic meat.

Looks like things haven't changed, I thought as we walked up the stairs to her apartment, her son leading the way. As I warmed up the squash soup, I noted that the cupboards were still fairly bursting with organic, whole foods and high-end olive oil. Maybe she inherited some money?

But as we sat down to dinner, Jane told me she nets only $1,200 per month as a self-employed seamstress and tailor. Before she had her son, she brought in much more money as an art teacher. When I pointed out that she seemed to be eating very well on what was essentially a poverty income, Jane admitted that she spends close to $300 per month on food. That's 25 percent of her income.

According to Michael Pollan in his new book, "In Defense of Food," the average American spends under 10 percent of their income on food. Food activists argue that Americans should be willing to spend more — to value quality over quantity. Pollan writes, "Not everyone can afford to eat high-quality food in America, and that is shameful; however those of us who can, should."

Presumably, Pollan meant that the financial inequity in this country is shameful, but Jane struggles with another kind of shame: that of not being able to afford high-quality food. Given her budget, she could just subsist on peanut butter sandwiches and ramen, but for her, food goes deeper than merely filling her belly. And she's not willing to let that go just because she's living low on the hog. She chooses to sacrifice other things instead.

"I'm not a hero," she said, as we dug into the soup and bread, her son perched on her lap. "But with food — you put it into your body, it's so important."

Eating well on little money is an art, I realized as Jane regaled me with stories about how she feeds herself and her son as well as any Whole Foods patron on a limited budget.

The first is to not be afraid to shop at places like the Grocery Outlet — a.k.a. the Gross Out. "We get canned fish there," Jane said. "Wild salmon, canned in Alaska. We make salmon burgers with that." This and cans of sardines and kippered herring are sold at the Grocery Outlet for about $1 a can. Because Jane's ancestry is Scandinavian, she thrives on a high fish diet. "My grandfather and dad were both fishermen in Minnesota," she said. The irony is not lost on her — she has become a canned-fisherwoman.

I pulled out the green salad I brought, cut up an apple and dressed it with oil and vinegar from Jane's cupboard. Her son snagged an apple and crunched happily on it, his blond curly hair framing his cherubic face.

So, the meat, the organic meat — how was that cost-effective? Isn't organic meat the most expensive thing out there?

"I buy the tougher cuts from the organic animal," Jane said. She bought chuck roast and brisket — meat that most wealthier eaters avoid. "Rich people want the steaks, but there's plenty of meat left over. These cuts need to be cooked longer, but they're delicious."

As for the chickens, the birds she bought were stewing hens — inexpensive birds culled from an organic egg operation. Jane said she can eat from one chicken for an entire week. She'll roast it, then make a stir fry, then make a stock from the carcass, then make chicken noodle soup. She was also delighted that the hens still had their feet — an important ingredient for making chicken soup stock. "I'll even chomp on the bones after that," she said, displaying her strong white teeth. "But I don't want to chomp on something I'm not sure about," she said, pointing out that's why she bought the birds in Marin.

Instead of buying locally grown organic vegetables, Jane has become her own local, organic producer. A nonprofit urban farm group called City Slicker Farms, which builds gardens for low-income Oakland residents, installed a series of raised beds in her backyard. So now Jane grows the majority of her greens in these beds.

Instead of seeming like a chore, growing her own food has become a hobby and a source of joy. Her tiny plot gives her a connection to the land. Farming, even on this small a scale is a reminder of her cultural heritage. Her grandfather lived through the depression, and always had a large urban garden in St. Paul, Minn. "He would garden and listen to baseball games," Jane said, smiling at his thrifty ways. "He collected rainwater in barrels." It makes sense for Jane to return to spendthrift methods in the face of a recession.

When I serve the pumpkin pie, Jane admits to her most unorthodox method of healthy food procurement: the Dumpster. Several local organic bakeries have enormous bins filled with day-old bread. "I think it's kind of exciting — right there are heaps of gorgeous bread saying, 'Take me home,'" she said. When she was growing up, with seven brothers and sisters, Jane got used to dealing with scarcity. "I remember one time I couldn't go on a field trip because it cost $2," Jane said. "We didn't have any extra money — not even $2." It makes her proud to harvest from a place where food is going to waste. The bread often goes in her son's lunch when he goes to pre-school — sourdough bread spread with sunflower seed butter.

Jane also saves money on food by never buying processed foods. "I would never buy salad dressing, right?" Jane said, explaining that she just makes her own. Recently, her son was offered applesauce: "He didn't know what it was," Jane laughed. "What 2-year old hasn't had applesauce? But I figure he can chew apples, why have them mashed up?"

None of these things feels like a sacrifice to Jane. "How else would I eat? This is just who I am, what else could I do but eat well, no matter what?" By being thrifty, growing her own and salvaging from Dumpsters, Jane has returned to her roots. She has turned the potential shame of poverty into a point of pride.

But all this money spent on buying good food — olive oil, Strauss organic butter, raw nuts — means that she can't afford to do much else but cook and eat. For instance, Jane would love to go to a yoga class, "but then I have to find child care for the class — and then suddenly my $10 yoga class becomes a $25 yoga class — and that's my whole budget for cheese!"

Jane also doesn't buy books, home decor or any other material items. As far as health care, Jane and son are enrolled in Medi-Cal. Since she found out she was pregnant, she's gotten prenatal, birth and post-partum health care through the state. Though Jane likes the care she receives, she does have to wait sometimes for an hour in order to get seen by the doctor.

But for Jane, this slow living is part of her lifestyle now. For her, prepping the family meal is the highlight of her day. "Sometimes I do have to cook something fast — I'll throw some pasta with some greens and Parmesan, and it's on the table. But mostly I love to spend like two hours cooking a chicken — that's when I'm cooking, really cooking. Knowing how to do that is kind of like an art."

A citizen of Oakland, Novella Carpenter reports on food, farming and culture. Her work has appeared in Mother Jones, Salon.com, Edible San Francisco and other publications. Her memoir about urban farming is forthcoming from Penguin Press. She keeps a blog about city farming at: yourcityfarmer.blogspot.com.